Used to be afraid
by hewhoistomriddle
Summary: Love overcomes fear, that's all. HD slash. two parts.
1. Chapter 1

FEB 04 2007 SylvanDreamer: J-dear, this is for you. It's your birthday, so I figure it's worth it to scour all the sap in my imagination to write this.

Lucius – a bit OOC. Implies HD slash in _very distant_ future. Not up to my usual standards but hey, I'm actually taking time to write instead of studying for math (which I'm unfortunately failing so you BETTER be worth it).

This is a two-part fic. the next chapter will be Harry's.

Discaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. Draco Malfoy is not mine! Lucius Malfoy is not mine!!! Oh the humanity! (weeps uncontrollably)

**DRACO**

Lucius Malfoy pushed his silvery-blond hair away back as he bent over his 18th century ebony desk, examining the spell-structure proposal for a new department of St. Mungo's.

He was sitting in his well-furnished study, tired and sleepy, poring over the numerous scrolls that had to be dealt with _immediately_. That pompous idiot of an engineer had earlier flaunted before him with plans upon plans of warding and he actually had the gall to dump them all, in the most messy way possible,for Lucius to go through.

He sighed, pale fingers rubbing his temples. _If that man weren't the best in warding, I would have annihilated(!) him long ago. Merlin, what would I give to simply just chuck this all out and sleep!_

Lucius Malfoy trusted only the best of the best to work on his projects. It was a reflection of the Malfoy name, after all, the quality of his charity works. And, contrary to popular opinion, Lucius honestly liked being a philanthropist. He _cared _that the beneficiaries would get first-rate treatment and facilities.

It was one of his abnormalities, Lucius' father had said.

Smiling fondly at the memory of his father, Lucius tentatively took a sip of butterbeer (from a champagne glass, no less) and continued working, summing up the costs and benefits in his head.

Waves of rain rolled outside, battering the Manor fiercely but harmlessly. Thunder resounded, though sounding as if it were from far away (Thank god Dingy finished the muffling charms! How am I supposed to concentrate with all that noise?).

He wasn't much past the fourth piece of parchment when his door creaked open and a mass of blankets tottered into the room.

Lucius' jaw fell open as he stared wide-eyed at the pile. _ARE THOSE NARCISSA'S EGYPTIAN SILKS?!_

A small head peeped out, looking embarrassed.

His son, Draco, had just barged into his study, trailing a bunch of expensive (and now slightly depleted) cloths behind him.

His son was a miniature of him: same platinum hair, same stormy eyes and ridiculously flawless pale skin, _an unmistakeable Malfoy_.

Despite knowing his family gene was strong, Lucius had _hoped_ that Draco would have a small bit of Narcissa in him. He didn't want Draco to be reminded of who he was 'supposed to be' every time he looked in a mirror. But it appeared that his hopes were in vain. Draco would have to live, as he did, _branded_.

Draco's lower lip was now trembling and his large luminous eyes were tearing but he kept trying still to put up a strong face. _ Five-year-olds._

"Father," He said in a small, almost squeaky, voice. "It's sooo… scary in my room. Do you think You-know-who's there?"

Lucius paled, his stomach sinking into an indescribable coldness. _I swear from now on, to never use that "you-know-who under your bed" trick to tease him or any child ever again._

Draco noticed his father's tenseness and took it as an encouragement to speak some more.

"It's just terrible, Father." He squeaked. "When I saw those _awful awful_ lights, I went to find you. Took me a long time to find you."

Lucius stood, scooped Draco up and looked at the boy seriously, lips turned up in an imperceptible smile. "What lights?"

"Those great big flashes of white light!" Draco waved his arms widely as if to emphasize. "After the light, there's a crashing sound and howling everywhere!"

Draco stopped…then burst out crying. He sobbed into Lucius' embrace, all dignity forgotten.

"Are you afraid, Draco?" Lucius asked gently, carrying his son out of the study. Draco's arms were wrapped around his neck and his small, blond head was buried on his shoulder. The small, slender body was shaking and he could feel the hot tears soak through sleeve.

"Shush," Lucius whispered. With one hand, he opened the double French doors leading to one of the balconies. The wind was very strong, and very cold. Lucius hugged Draco closer.

Raindrops were pelting them, soaking Lucius as he awkwardly tried to impervious Draco without his wand and hands full. He was brilliantly cold and wet (and the Egyptian silk officially ruined) by the time he got the impervious and warming charms working.

"Draco, look at me," he shifted so that Draco had no choice but to look up, still sniffling.

(_Merlin, the boy must have been terrified)_

"You-know-who is gone," Lucius said firmly, willing himself to believe it too. "It's only a storm, look."

Draco glanced at the wild and violent sky and cringed.

"Why does it have to do that?" he sniffed, looking away. His father had to strain his hearing to hear him.

"Do what?"

"Become stormy," Draco hummed, getting comfortable in Lucius' embrace…and getting sleepy again. It was, after all, past midnight…and he and Theo and Blaise had been running around all afternoon…

"Skies are like that," Lucius' deep voice was calming and broke through the monotonous roaring of the wind. "They're strong and fierce and, sometimes, they can't keep it to themselves. They want to show the world how strong they can be…"

Draco looked at the storm again, this time a little longer…and a bit dreamily,

"Can those lights kill you?" He asked, almost dozing off. "I hate them. They scare me…"

"Yes, they can actually," Lucius answered, slowly going back inside. "It can burn you. But you don't have to be afraid of lightning, Draco."

_You don't have to be afraid of lightning, Draco._

Draco Malfoy was already fast asleep.

Lucius tucked him in _again_, making sure he was safe and dry before he left the rather large room. He laughed to himself about heirs and sons as he wandered back to his study several rooms away.

It was not until the next day, when Narcissa's scream of surprise and horror woke him, that he remembered about the Egyptian silk. _Oh bugger._

End.

SylvanDreamer. Happy Birthday. No, I'm not being cheap. This is only part of my present.


	2. Chapter 2

The second part. I'm a little amused that some of you put this own alert but didn't bother to review. No, I'm not angry, just amused. (which is bad since I act all weird when I'm amused. Like in biology class…nevermind.)

Warning: a bit angsty but no one dies or something horrible like that

Disclaimer: Let's see…_fame?_ None. _Money?_ None! _Utter creative genius?_ NONE! No, I do not own Harry Potter.

**Harry**

"_Bravery is the choice that something else is more important than fear"_

Harry Potter, not more than five at that time, looked up timidly as his big, fat cousin poked him rather painfully.

Dudley had been getting a lot meaner now, ever since he realized he could get away with it. The blond boy, ridiculously porky-looking, had just gotten back from a trip to the shopping mall with his parents. (Harry, of course, had been left at Mrs. Figg's house, where he'd been forced to memorize the names of every single cat, dead or alive.)

Dudley never missed an opportunity to taunt Harry about what he was missing.

"Don't' you wish you came with us, Harry?" Dudley sniggered, popping a red-flavored sweet into his mouth. "I saw all sorts of neat stuff."

"Uncle Vernon won't let me come," Harry said silently, looking at the ground at his feet. He did not want to see Dudley's gloating face anymore than necessary. "He says I'd ruin everything."

"That's too bad," His cousin said, than laughed at his pathetic attempt at sarcasm. "Your life is misera- misa-…_bad_."

"I know," Harry nodded glumly. He stared enviously at the brightly-colored candies Dudley was clutching.

"That's what you get, Mum says, for being a _freak_." Dudley said callously. "'Snot your fault really, your parents were freaks too. D'you think they'd been part of the circus before they killed themselves?"

"They did not kill themselves!" Harry said forcefully, hands balling into fists.

"Dad says they were in a car accident so they're to blame…" Dudley drawled, feeling very well-informed. "You should know, you've got that dumb scar to show for it!"

Harry's hands automatically went to his lightning-shaped scar. Aunt Petunia always hated that scar, for some unknown reason, and the more she glared at it, the more conscious he felt.

"It was an accident!" Harry protested, hands clamped on his forehead.

"Whatever," Dudley gobbled down a chocolate bar. "If they'd been alive and _normal_, I think you'd be eating same as me right now. Though, of course, a smaller piece, since your parents wouldn't be as rich as mine."

"Who says?!" Harry growled. The piece of toffee Dudley ha been unwrapping popped out of the wrapper and bopped the fat boy hard on the forehead.

"Hey! What'd you do that for?!" Dudley turned on him.

"I didn't do anything!" But he knew he did. He could feel it, when he was angry or afraid, but he had no control.

"Shut up, you liar!" Dudley shouted, attracting the attention of a nosy neighbor. Kid fights were always a good reason to complain. "I was gonna give some of my candy but you just couldn't wait, could you! I'll teach you!"

He stomped into the house.

Harry jumped up and looked for a place to hide. He wasn't stupid enough to fight with Dudley, who was by all means stronger than him.

_Where-? _His spirits sank. Vernon had fertilized his favorite hiding spot just yesterday. Harry _really _didn't want to bury himself in manure.

Dudley came out, carrying something. He had been amazingly fast.

Harry ran out of the yard and down the block, glancing back to see if Dudley was following.

_He was_, and he was swinging a mighty broadsword. The one made of hard plastic and decorated by fancy markings and fake glittery stones. It looked very pretty from afar, but Harry had no desire to see it up close.

"You can't run forever, cousin," Dudley laughed as he jogged as fast as his piggy egs could allow.

Harry, although thankfully speedy, was awfully clumsy. He didn't see the crack on the pavement. He tripped…and fell like a ragdoll. He blinked dazedly a he sat up, feeling thoroughly bruised.

Dudley was standing over him and holding the sword to Harry's throat.

"Great Dudley conquers Harry Potter," He smiled triumphantly and pushed the sword harder.

Harry choked, and struggled frantically. He grabbed hold of the sword (he could see the cheap gold-colored dragon with its green eyes quite clearly now) and tried to push it away.

Dudley was stronger.

It might've been fatal if the nosy neighbor hadn't intervened. Harry didn't think he'd ever be grateful for Mrs. Figg's existence until that moment.

She'd grabbed the sword from Dudley, promptly broke it into two (my, what strength) and began shouted and insulted and basically told off Dudley until he was reduced to a jellylike mass of tears.

Harry rubbed his throat and fixed his glasses, cold dread stabbing at his heart.

Mrs. Figg marched them back home and began shouting another torrent of abuse at Petunia Dursley as well about 'ill-mannered criminal bullies!' and 'dangerous toys'.

Needless to say, Harry was locked up in his cupboard that night, without any dinner. It was he who was to blame for Dudley's actions. It was _he _who provoked, _he _who harmed, _he _who was a criminal.

But Harry didn't care for the accusations. All he could think about was the hard plastic pressing on his throat and the cold, cruel eyes of that dragon. It was an awful feeling…to be afraid.

He had never been afraid before.

_Dragons…_a chill went down his spine. From that moment, he would always associate fear with dragons.

* * *

Over the next few days, Harry Potter would forget about this incident, perhaps helped by little meddling and a forgetting charm by the co-conspirators, Figg and Dumbledore.

After all, he would help smuggle an illegal baby Ridgeback out of England. He would fight a ferocious Horntail hell-bent on incinerating him before he reached her eggs.

He would meet an awful, obnoxious boy with a Dragon name…and handle him quite well.

But, since memories were trifle things, the incident would always remain deep inside his mind, manifesting itself at the oddest moments.

Before a quidditch match, he would dream of dragons…and wake up sweating.

End.

This is a little more angsty than the previous chapter. Primarily because I don't owe anything to SylvanD this time round.

Harry did not have a very happy childhood, poor guy.


End file.
